


Azurite and Diamonds: A Collection

by wynniethepooh



Category: Glee
Genre: Klaine Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynniethepooh/pseuds/wynniethepooh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories that all mean forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Could Be Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a Klaine Week a long long time ago and I finally got productive and managed to get round to finishing and posting! Each chapter is on a different theme, as allocated on the particular days of the week. Enjoy!

**We Could Be Friends**  

_‘I am convinced that we should be friends_  
We compare our hearts to things that fly  
 _But cannot land  
_ _Please don’t put your face into your hands, we could be friends.’_

 

**I.**

The little boy on the pavement with his big round eyes looks up. The sun catches the golden glint in his eye, but when he looks down again, the shadows that ring below his eyelashes are prominent and his lips turn down in a melancholy expression of sadness. He’s only young: much too young to be out here on his own, but neither his parents, nor his brother, noticed when he slipped through the back fly-screen door, sliding through the gap in the fence and onto the back street. 

He wraps his little arms around himself and cries.

 

**II.**

The sky darkens, the sun slipping below the horizon. The little boy doesn’t like the dark, never has, and he stands up quickly on shaky feet. He’s not sure where home is anymore, not since he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, and he especially doesn’t know the way now that shadows cover every surface and the street doesn’t quite look the same. 

He walks towards the end of the street, where the streetlights spread pools of yellow light on the pavement and the darkness seems that little bit less scary. But a five year old out on the streets at night can never feel safe, and he shudders softly. 

The world, which during the day seemed much safer than his own house, with his parents fighting, and his older brother too engrossed in his games and his friends to care about little old him, suddenly seems threatening and alone, and he longs for the warm fire and the warm arms that surround him when his Mama drags him onto her lap, humming softly as they rock together.

He wonders if she’ll still be there when he finds his way back, or if all his Daddy’s yelling would have made her run away too.

 

**III.**

The car that drives past is dark blue in colour, like his Mama’s favourite cotton shirt. The inside of it is dark, too dark for him to see, but it slows as it reaches him, bathed in the glow of the streetlight. 

He suddenly feels too open, overly exposed, but he’s too young and too afraid of the dark to understand the safety the shadows offer. And so he crouches smaller, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them in tight against his chest.

The car pulls up to a stop just past him, the door opening with only the slightest creak. From his side of the car, a little boy climbs out, maybe only slightly older than himself. His eyes are a wide, effervescent blue, and he rushes to the little boy beneath the streetlight, kneeling down so they’re face to face.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks softly, gently. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Blaine,’ the boy whispers. ‘Blaine.’

 

**IV.**

‘Where’s home, kid?’ the boy- Kurt’s - father asks, turning back in his seat to look at Blaine, still small and curled in on himself. Kurt is watching him with wide eyes, his hand crossing the gap between the two seats and pressing into the soft leather of the middle seat as he examines him. 

‘I- I’m not sure,’ Blaine murmurs. ‘Daddy and Mama were yelling, and I didn’t know what to do, and Cooper wouldn’t listen, so I had to go. And I went out, and I didn’t know how to get back.’ A sob builds in his throat, is released. Kurt’s hand slips across the final distance and tangles into Blaine’s squeezing tight. 

‘Okay, kid. I’ll have to take you into the police station, see if they can get onto your parents. But you’ll be fine with us, okay?’ Kurt’s father steers the car into a parking lot, cutting the engine and opening the door to the bright floodlights that illuminate the station. He opens the door to the back seat, motioning for Blaine to get out, but he can’t move, and Kurt’s hand is tight around his own, and it’s all he can think about. That hand, and the fact that these people are strangers. 

It seems strange to Blaine to think of Kurt as a stranger. They’ve known each other all of five minutes, but his hand is warm and comforting, like his mother’s touch, and he sinks into it gratefully. 

But his father seems more like his own father, big and burly and with a gruff voice, and although his smile is wide and kind and so much like Kurt’s - Kurt with his warm touch, warm hand - he is big and adult, and not like Kurt, and not at all like Blaine.

‘Come on,’ Kurt whispers gently, and together, they slide out of the car.

 

**V.**

The police station, despite it’s bright light, seems almost too light, too cold. Blaine still keeps his arms wrapped tight around himself and does not pull away when Kurt wraps his arm around him. It reminds him of his brother, Cooper, of the way he’d pick him up and place him on his lap to watch The Lion King or The Little Mermaid; how he’d wrap him up in the quilt their Lola had made for them when Blaine was first born. Or how he used to, anyway, before he became too old to look after his little brother.

‘Sergeant, I found this kid here on Gordon St about ten minutes ago,’ Kurt’s dad says softly to the man behind the desk, with his blue cap and shirt and tired eyes. ‘He’s all alone and he doesn’t know how to get home.’

‘Shit,’ the sergeant says, almost to himself. ‘How old do you reckon he is, Burt? Looks younger than your boy.’

‘Kurt’s six, and I reckon the little guy’s probably about five.’

‘Whoa, that’s pretty young to be out on his own, don’t you think?’

‘That’s why I brought him in to you, Sergeant. Hoped you might have heard something.’

The man shakes his head and glances once again, out of the corner of his eye towards Blaine. Kurt’s whispering softly to him now, speaking words no one but the two of them can hear. Slowly, a smile creeps onto Blaine’s lips, only curling up the edges slightly, but enough to be there, present and real.

‘Friends for life right there,’ the Sergeant comments with a grin and a laugh. Burt returns it with a grim smile.

 

**VI.**

Kurt leaves Blaine with a last twine of fingertips, then release. They’d been out buying dinner when they found him, and if they don’t go home now, it will go cold and Kurt’s Mommy won’t be happy with them. 

‘But Sergeant Jacobs will look after you, kid,’ Burt says, clapping him lightly but firmly on the shoulder. ‘He’s got a call from your mom and they’re going to come pick you up right away. Hold tight.’

And then they’re gone and Blaine is far behind them and Kurt is sitting in the front seat again like he was when they found Blaine, except now his knees are pulled up against his chest, his feet resting on the seat and his arms around his shins to hold him all together.

‘You think he’ll be alright?’ he asks his father softly.

‘Yeah, I think he’ll be alright.’

‘Do you know what I told him?’ Kurt whispers.

Burt shakes his head but doesn’t speak, leaving the gap in the conversation for Kurt to continue. 

‘I told him that we should be friends. That he looked like he needed one, and that I’d bring him round to play in my treehouse one day.’

His father’s eyes are sad and weary when he turns to face Kurt. ‘You’re probably never going to see him again, kiddo,’ he says gently, as if he’s breaking terrible news. And in a way, it is. Kurt doesn’t want to hear that his promise to Blaine will be broken, and just like that. He doesn’t want to hear that the boy with golden eyes and curly dark hair and that magnetic draw to touch will never cross his path again.

‘You’re wrong,’ he returns adamantly, though his voice is softly, barely loud enough to hear. ‘You’re wrong.’

 

**VII.**

It’s six months later when Blaine’s back out on the pavement and he’s grown a little since the last time. His hair is a little longer, his legs a little too. And this time his parents aren’t fighting. He just misses the face he can only just remember from six months ago, when he was five and a half and not six. 

The darkness doesn’t scare him so much anymore. Cooper had weaned him off the nightlight in their shared bedroom by turning it off and laying next to him on his bed, holding his hand in the dark until it didn’t scare him anymore. It was the last truly kind thing Cooper did for him for a long time.

The sun is still up, but he’s already moving towards the main road, thinking about that dark blue car, the boy with the electric blue eyes, and every shade of blue in between. It doesn’t feel scary to be here anymore. It feels like he’s going back to his favourite holiday location, sitting back on the sand and trying his hardest to remember what it was like last year, and store it into his memory so he’ll never forget again.

And then the sun is falling down below the horizon, the streetlights blinking into life. And then a car is driving past, dark blue, the same colour as his Mama’s favourite cotton shirt. 

Blaine hears a squeal and then the car is stopping, past Blaine but still close enough that when the door opens and the boy jumps out, he can hear his laugh.

‘Blaine!’ he calls out and then he’s there, wrapping his six-and-a-half year old arms around Blaine’s neck and hugging him tight. 

‘Kurt,’ Blaine whispers into his ear. ‘I’ve been waiting for you forever.’

The other boy pulls back to look at him, really look at him, and he tugs on one of his curls as if to say _your hair is getting longer. You’ve changed._

‘Me, too,’ he whispers finally, letting out a shaky breath. ‘Me, too.’


	2. Animal Love

**Animal Love**

' _Go ahead and take my conviction.  
_ _Go ahead and take my everything.’_

 

**I.**

Blaine Anderson is sixteen when he first starts volunteering at the animal shelter. They placed an advertisement in the newspaper and his father cut it out for him, placing it purposefully on his bedside table in the hope that he’d see it and start getting out of the house more. 

Because he never seems to get out nowadays.

 

**II.**

The first day he goes, the first Monday of his summer holidays, he’s not sure what to expect. He thinks of the library books he used to borrow as a kid, the ones that talked about activism and looking after wildlife. He imagines a plump elderly woman and her teenage granddaughter, looking after injured squirrels and puppies that have been found deserted from the living room of their house.

In reality, the animal shelter sits beside the local veterinarian centre, and is run primarily by a twenty-something girl with long, strawberry blond hair who gives him a warm smile and introduces herself as Wren. 

Wren knows her stuff. She works mornings at the vet and afternoons at the animal shelter, and she seems constantly run off her feet, hardly able to hand Blaine a hard plastic apron before hurrying him into the back room.

‘So you’re okay to work mornings, right?’ she asks, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘Just, there’s no one here right now if any new strays get brought in in the morning, and they have to bring them into the vet room, which always frustrates Dr Peterson.’

She hands him a dog bowl and motions towards a large bag of food pushed against a back wall. ‘Most of what we do here is basic care for animals until they can get picked up by their owners, if they have them, or until someone adopts them. There’s a yard out the back which we use when we don’t have time to walk the dogs, and a playroom at the end of the corridor to the left for the cats to play around in.’ Another motion with her hands and Blaine places the now full dog bowl into a cage on his left.

‘I hate putting the animals in cages,’ Wren says, giving Blaine a wry smile. ‘But there’s not enough room for the sheer amount of creatures we get through here.’ She pulls a kitten from an upper cage, rubbing the cat between the ears until it purred and then kissing it on the nose before placing it back. ‘It’s sad really.’

Blaine nods, and he feels like its the only thing he can do. Wren is a girl who likes to talk, and Blaine used to be like that, but he’s not so vibrant or so full of life anymore.

He opens the next cage and methodically fills all the water and food bowls while Wren shifts the cats into their play room and the dogs into the yard. By the time they’re finished, it’s already getting late, and Blaine heads home.

The day has been long and difficult, but without even noticing it, there’s a slight swing in his step, and he whistles as he unlocks the door to his house and toes off his shoes at the door.

At the kitchen table, his father looks up from his bookwork and smiles.

 

**III.**

His volunteer work at the animal shelter becomes routine every summer of Blaine’s high school and college life. At college, he studies vet nursing, and the work at the shelter soon spreads over into the vet clinic. 

But even though his degree qualifies him to work in the clinic, he seems to favour the animal shelter. In the mornings, he, Dr Peterson and Wren gather for their morning meeting, and Blaine offers, as he always does, to look after the animals in the shelter. If they’re short in the clinic, he has no qualms with helping out, but the shelter seems to call to him.

The animals look up at him with big eyes, brown and hazel and gold, and then that odd, bright blue. He gives them love and food and care, and in turn, they give him affection. 

 

**IV.**

He’s living in an apartment on the southern side of Lima. His parents offered to keep him with them, but the apartment is closer to the animal shelter, and now that he’s got a degree and he’s earning a bit of cash, he can afford it. 

The first thing he does once he has his own place is search through the cages of lost animals, searching for the one he wants. But he can’t decide. He knows too much about each animal, has cared for each of them since they arrived at the shelter. They each have a place in his heart, and he just can’t pick one. 

So he continues to live by himself, without even an animal to keep him company at night.

And sometimes he wishes he had company. 

 

**V.**

The kitten arrives on a Sunday. Blaine doesn’t normally work Sundays; he’s not supposed to anyway. But he always goes in, unlocking the door with the key Wren had cut for him his first summer. He takes all the dogs for walks on a Sunday, two at a time, each around the block for three laps. 

He’s walking Roger the big hulking doberman and Milo the little brown daschund, and suddenly Roger is barking, and Milo is yapping and out from under a parked car streaks a flash of grey. It enters and exits his field of vision too fast for him to make out details, but there’s a squeak of lost cat, a squeak he knows well, and he tosses Milo and Roger’s leads over one of the pickets on the fence beside him and sets off in chase.

Five minutes later and he has her, the most beautiful grey kitten he’s ever seen, and he tugs his hoodie over his head, wrapping it around the shivering little ball of fur.

Her eyes are blue. So very bright blue.

 

**VI.**

He can’t leave her at the shelter, that much is clear. She’s thinner than most, like she’s been out on her own for a few days, and she’s still tiny. He doesn’t even know how she got off on her own, how she managed to survive that long. She should still be on milk, the dear little thing.

He takes her home instead, still wrapped up in his hoodie, even though it’s started raining and he’s only wearing a t-shirt. He makes her a bed out of a cardboard box and newspaper and warms a bit of milk in a teated bottle which he’d brought home from the shelter. 

She gulps it down quickly and he has to pull the teat out of her mouth before she chokes or swells her little stomach. But he feeds her every hour until she’s looking much more vibrant, purring at him as he pushes his forefinger along the top of her head, between and around her ears. 

He doesn’t name her. He wants to, desperately, and he knows what she would be called. 

Angel.

 

**VII.**

The next week, her owner doesn’t arrive. But Blaine doesn’t hold high hopes. She’s young, probably still part of a large litter, and maybe they haven’t noticed she’s missing yet. Maybe they don’t know whether to look. Maybe they’ve lost hope.

Each day, he brings her into the shelter, bundling her up in a pile of blankets and cardboard behind the desk. He can’t bear to put her in the cages, just like he can’t bear to leave her behind at night. He goes about his normal work, but every hour he stops to feed her, to check on her.

When Wren steps out of the clinic, she shoots him a look. 

‘That kitten’s really caught your heart, hasn’t it, hun.’ She’s been calling him ‘honey’ or variations of the same since his senior year of high school. 

‘Mm.’

‘Named her yet?’

He looks towards her quickly. ‘No,’ he replies, but he doesn’t fool Wren and he most definitely does not fool himself. ‘But it doesn’t matter because she probably already has a name, and her owner will be round to pick her up before too long.’

Wren nods, but the look in her eyes is solemn, watching him lift the little kitten into his arms and press the teat of the milk bottle to her mouth. She doesn’t mention how obvious it is that he loves that creature with all his heart.

 

**VII.**

It’s two weeks after he’s found Angel - her, not Angel, _her -_ and he’s weaning her slowly off the milk, taking her into the clinic for injections. He’s paying for it all out of his own pocket, and when Wren asks how far he’s willing to go for that kitten, he pretends he doesn’t hear her.

And then it happens. He knew it would, he _knew,_ but two weeks was a long time and he’d started to hope.

The merry ring of the bell at the door rings out and he looks up from Angel to catch the eye of the young man slipping inside. But the man’s eyes are on the kitten, bright and wide and just as blue and then, ‘You have her!’

The man is dropping his bag on the floor and rushing towards Blaine, manhandling Angel out of his warm hands and raising her into the cold air and all Blaine can think of is _don’t hurt her, God, don’t hurt her._

‘Excuse me,’ he manages to squeak out. ‘She's your cat?’

The man shakes his head quickly. ‘My neighbours. Their cat had kittens a month ago, and they lost one, but this is it, this is her! Charley’s been so worried, but her mom said that it happens, that kittens run away, and the litter was so huge that they didn’t really notice it in time anyway, and they just kind of assumed she’d gotten hit or starved or something, but Mrs Kevrington isn’t very kind on a good day.’ He moves Angel to a better place in his arms, actually holding her close, and Blaine feels jealousy rise up in his stomach, acidic and harsh in his throat.

‘Oh.' 

‘What is it?’ the man asks, actually looking up at Blaine for the first time. ‘I’m happy to organise a complete refund for anything you’ve spent on this little mite.’ He twists Angel in his hands again. ‘And we better get Charley to give you a name when we get home, better we?’

‘Angel.’ Blaine’s voice is harsh and cold as he looks at the kitten, already struggling to get out of the man’s arms. 

‘What?’

‘Her name’s Angel.’

The man looks down at the kitten. ‘Suits,’ he says softly. ‘Again, sorry for the inconvenience. I thought about coming here earlier, but I didn’t get time, but again, I’ll organise reimbursement, so don’t worry-’

‘I don’t want payment.’ Blaine shakes his head quickly, hoping it will hide the tears that are pooling in the corners of his eyes, because he doesn’t cry, and most definitely not over a kitten. But he looks at the kitten, and at the man who’s taking her away, and he notices for the first time that their eyes are exactly the same shade of blue, bright and staring.

‘Then I owe you,’ the man says with a small smile, and he’s placing a business card on the table, but Blaine can hardly see the words written on it. ‘Thanks...?’ the man says, phishing for a name.

‘Blaine,’ Blaine manages to growl out, and then the man’s smiling at him and turning away, and Angel is leaving. She can’t leave, he can’t let her go.

‘Bye, Blaine!’ 

And the man with the blue eyes is gone.

And Angel is gone.

 

**VIII.**

Blaine’s apartment feels empty without her. The bottle he used to give her milk still sits upturned on the drying rack. Her bed of blankets and cardboard still sits at the end of his bed. But she’s not here and it all feels wrong.

He throws the business card of the man on the bench, not wanting to look, but not wanting to throw it away either. That man is the only connection he has to Angel, and even though she’s only a kitten, Wren was right. She’d been special to Blaine.

 

**IX.**

He gets into work late the next morning. He can’t seem to find the energy to shower and eat breakfast, and instead he pulls on yesterday’s jeans and a clean shirt from his cupboard and he hopes he doesn’t smell. But still, he arrives an hour late, and Wren looks at him disapprovingly.

‘It’s been a busy morning, Blaine,’ she says. ‘And you know I normally help Dr Peterson in the mornings. I’ve had to try and split my time, and with everyone coming in, that’s been difficult.’

‘Sorry,’ he mutters before she can begin speaking again.

She purses her lips into a frown, but she’s looking at him like he’s her little brother, lost and forlorn and like he needs help and in a way, he is. She wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into a hug. ‘I’m sorry, hun. Just don’t do it again, okay?’

He nods and she releases him.

‘Is this about your kitten?’

‘Mm.’

‘A guy came in to buy some stuff for it today. He said to tell you that she’s doing well, but that Mrs K had already sold all the other kittens and didn’t want to deal with it, so he’s looking after it. Seems like he’s going out of pocket too. He bought everything in the store a cat could want.’

Blaine looks up then, catching Wren’s eye for the first time. ‘He’s looking after her?’ 

‘That’s the impression that I got. He bought food bowls, and water bowls, and a bed, and blankets and toys. He laughed and told me that he wouldn’t mind a bit of assistance setting up, but I think he was just joking. Made a point of talking about you, though.’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, he said that you seemed pretty upset when he took her. That’s when I knew it was your little kitten he was talking about.’ Wren gives him a sad smile. ‘He left this.’ She pulls an envelope out from behind the desk as Blaine stands on the other side, frozen in place. She hands it over with a grin and a, ‘Stop looking like a customer, Blaine. People will think we’re run off our feet or something!’

He opens the envelope with shaky fingers. He knows what’s here, the man has already mentioned it, but he doesn’t want his money. He doesn’t want his _reimbursement._ He just wants Angel.

‘I’m gonna have to run,’ he says to Wren, pushing the envelope back into her unsuspecting hands. ‘Put this into the dog food fund or something.’

‘Where are you going?’ she calls after him. 

‘I’ve gotta find Angel!’

 

**X.**

The pavement pounds beneath his feet and the energy he didn’t have this morning is pulsing through his veins like liquid fire. He doesn’t know how he’s going to find her, but maybe the business card the man left will have a phone number, or even better, an address.

His fingers shake as he unlocks the front door of his apartment, and when he finally gains access, he skids across the room without bothering to take his shoes off. The business card is exactly where he’d thrown it angrily the night before, and he snatches it up, holding it up to the light to read the lettering stenciled onto the deep purple card in shimmering gold.  

_Kurt E. Hummel  
_ _419-8326  
_ _287 Brice Avenue_

 

**XI.**

It’s the other side of town, not near Blaine’s at all, but he’s just glad for an address. He doesn’t stop to think _maybe he’s at work today, maybe that’s not his home address, maybe he won’t give a damn._

He hands over two dollars bus fare to the driver as he climbs on, hoping that it will get him to the right destination. He jumps off again when he knows he’s three streets over and he runs the last of the way. His fingers are still jumping, painting patterns in the air, like the expenditure of energy through his legs is not enough. His breath is heavy and when he finds the right gate, he doesn’t stop to catch his breath, just levers up the latch and walks up the driveway, willing himself to remain calm.

_Angel. Angel. Angel._

The door opens and Blaine feels suddenly ridiculous, because Kurt Hummel is standing there, and Angel is in his hand, pressed tight against his chest, and she actually looks happy. She’s not his, he needs to remember that. No matter how much he wishes she was, she won’t be.

‘Hi,’ he manages to say, forcing his gaze up and away from the kitten and to Kurt E. Hummel’s face.

‘Hey,’ His smile is warm, and he holds out his free hand for Blaine to shake. ‘Blaine, right? The girl at the shelter told me when I mentioned you.’ He doesn’t ask _why are you here?_ He doesn’t seem to recognize that it’s out of the ordinary for Blaine to be standing on an owners stoop, staring at them.

‘You’re here about the note, right?’ Kurt continues when Blaine doesn’t reply. ‘I know I said that you could come see her whenever you liked, but I didn’t think you’d come right away.’

‘There was a note?’ Blaine manages to get out, and Kurt tilts his head to the side, wondering _if it wasn’t the note, why is he here?_

‘Uh- yeah... I left it in the envelope with the cash.’

‘Oh.' 

He doesn’t know what to say next, how to respond. Because he’s standing outside a stranger’s door and he’s just made a fool of himself, but all he can look at is the kitten in the other man’s arms, staring at him.

‘Right,’ Kurt says, finally breaking the silence. ‘I’m sorry I left so quickly yesterday I was just-’ He bites his lip and lets out a tiny laugh. ‘Well, my best friend Rachel calls me a predatory flirt, and I knew I was overstepping major boundaries there, so I thought the quicker I was out of your presence, the quicker you could get onto avoiding the obvious gay.’

Blaine looks up then, catches his eye properly, the shy glance behind it. ‘What?’

‘I just- my gaydar is generally incredibly off. In high school, I hit on the guy who was later to become my stepbrother. And who is as straight as they come. But I just thought maybe, if I was lucky, you might be-’

‘I’m gay.’ Blaine says quickly, even though it’s not something he really talks about, or something that normally comes up in conversation. He’s never been a relationship. He’s never really been interested enough in anyone to start. 

But when he pays attention, he remembers that Kurt has the same bright blue eyes as Angel, that they glow in the same way. It’s beautiful and it draws him in and he thinks _maybe if he didn’t steal my kitten, I might be interested in him._

And he is interested. Now that Kurt has voiced it, Blaine is most definitely interested. And he’s never been interested in a guy before.

‘Oh,’ Kurt says softly. ‘Good.’

And then he’s stepping backwards, inviting Blaine into his home, and holding Angel out for him to take.

 

 **XII.**  

‘I mean, I didn’t mean to make you upset. And I’m now her sole caregiver anyway, unless Charley comes round to play.’ Kurt smiles, watching Angel pounce around Blaine’s knees and dancing fingers. ‘My neighbour. I think I told you.’

Blaine is only half listening, his gaze caught on the kitten, but he looks up occaisonally, and his eyes catch with Kurt’s, bright and blue. The other man blushes, a red flush creeping up his cheeks and Blaine thinks he really is beautiful. Inescapably beautiful.

‘I see how much she means to you,’ Kurt says finally, as his blush starts to recede. ‘I’m sorry I had to take her, but I thought Charley and Mrs K were still looking. And then she got passed on to me, and I thought- well, I thought you might like to be part of her little kitten life.’ He gives Blaine a smile, which is returned. ‘I don’t know how we’ll manage it, but I’m sure we can figure out a custody arrangement or something.’ A laugh, and Blaine grins.

‘No,’ he says, the first word in a long while. He’s happy to let Kurt talk, but on this point, he must be strong. ‘She’s yours.’

‘But-’ Kurt tries to protest.

‘No. I can’t- I can’t be attached to every cute kitten that I find at the shelter. What would I do then?’ It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either, and Kurt raises and eyebrow, calling him out.

‘Wren said she’s the first one you’ve really been this attached to. The first one you’ve put above all others. She belongs to you.’

Blaine shakes his head again, because he can’t do that. It’s overstepping too many boundaries, and even though he blurs the line between work and home everyday, he can’t do this.

‘Then how about you come round here in your free time,’ Kurt says finally, carefully picking up on Blaine’s stubborn nature and not pushing further. ‘We’ll call her my kitten for all means and purposes, but you can see her whenever you want. My home is your home, if you will.’

‘I can’t-’ he tries to say again, but Kurt shakes his head. 

‘I like you, Blaine. I’m pretty sure I more than like you, if my insane blush has anything to do with it.’ He lets out a small chuckle, but Blaine’s gaze is steady on him and he catches his eye. ‘I’d like it if you were around here. And I know all of it’s totally out of line already, but I don’t want you here just for the kitten.’ He reaches out a hand, curls it between Angel’s ears where she sits on Blaine’s lap. ‘I kind of want you here as well.’ He looks up into Blaine’s eyes. ‘God, my flirting skills have flown out the window today, haven’t they?’

Blaine laughs then, pressing his hand to the same spot on Angel’s head so that their hands touch, link together in a messy sort of hold. ‘I think I kind of like it.’

Kurt smiles.

 

**XIII.**

Theirs is a complicated sort of relationship. Blaine comes over each afternoon, dropping his bag by the door and toeing off his shoes before stepping into the living room and lying down on the floor or spreading out on the couch and tugging Angel onto his lap. Kurt joins him, tangling their fingers together, and when they kiss for the first time, it’s with a kitten between them, digging her impatient claws into their knees.

 

**XIV.**

Angel is bigger, almost fully grown when Kurt stops Blaine at the door one afternoon. His hand catches in Blaine’s vest holding him still and he gives him a small smile.

‘Stop doing this,’ Kurt says gently. 

‘What?’

‘Stop coming round every afternoon. You’re here more than at your own place anyway, just move in.’

‘ _What?’_

Kurt smiles, releasing his grip on Blaine and wrapping his arms around his neck instead. ‘Move in with me,’ he whispers against his lips.

 

**XV.**

The next day, Blaine’s apartment is packed up and his belongings placed in Kurt’s spare room. He only unpacks his clothes and then he’s falling onto Kurt’s bed, being pulled tight against Kurt’s chest, and Angel curls herself up in the warm circle of their bodies as they sleep. In this position, she begins to purr.

Her bright blue eyes close, and she is content.


	3. Coffee Cups

**Coffee Cups**

_‘I’ve been stepping on cracks just to see what’ll happen  
_ _Just daring that dam to break  
_ _And the shards of glass hold a million faces.’_

 

**I.**

All he can feel is the hot air rushing in and out of his lungs, the bite of hot blood welling in his lip as he tries to hold back the tears. He can’t cry now. Not in front of Kurt.

So he pushes the glass door of the cafe open and steps out into the cold, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. He bends over forwards into the strong wind and finally let the tears fall, where they are swept away before they left tracks down his cheeks.

 

**II.**

He didn’t mean it. Blaine knows he didn’t mean it, and even as he presses his head into his pillow and tries to pretend, he knows he’s going to have to see him again. He can’t stay away. It hurts, being here now, knowing his phone is on the bedside table right beside him, but he can’t reach out, because that would be forgiveness, and he can’t forgive him.

 

**III.**

The phone’s ringing, loud and blaring, and he stares at it, praying it will turn itself off. But it doesn’t, and he unwillingly tilts the screen in his direction to read the name.

_Rachel Berry._

‘Eugh!’ he groans and rolls back over, ignoring the call and almost smiling as he imagines her frantically trying to get a hold of him. Their date had been a relatively good one, as far as Blaine’s experience with dates goes. They’d talked a lot, and had similar things in common, but he didn’t feel the _spark_ which he had that first kiss. That alcohol infused, infamous kiss.

It seems to be happening more often lately, but as he stares at the ceiling, he wonders if he’ll ever feel that spark. If there’ll ever be someone he wants to spend more and more time with until he feels fit to burst.

 

**IV.**

The first call from Kurt arrives the next morning. It’s a Saturday, and Blaine doesn’t want to answer it, because it seems all too soon, and all too new and he doesn’t want to have to answer the question: _maybe I just want to feel like someone actually cares about me for once._

Instead, he ignores the call. He considers turning off his cell altogether, but it seems too final. He runs a hand through his hair and stares at the ceiling and wonders when something’s going to give.

 

**V.**

His mother brings him breakfast and he swallows it down hesitantly, the bacon and eggs tasting like ash in his mouth. She stops in the doorway, waiting for him to speak and explain himself, but he says nothing, and so she leaves, her lips downturned into a frown.

 

**VI.**

The knock on the door is soft and quiet, but Blaine hears it like a gunshot, echoing in his ears. ‘Go away!’ he calls preemptively, because he knows its not his mother. His mother wouldn’t knock.

‘No,’ Kurt’s voice returns through the door, and then the wood is being pressed forward and his weight is sitting on the side of Blaine’s bed, pressing the mattress down, but he doesn’t want to turn around and look. He doesn’t want to have to speak to him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kurt says softly, and it’s the apology he’s been waiting for. He turns his head to the side hesitantly.

‘Yeah?’ His tone is guarded and the boy across from him frowns.

‘I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t.’ His fingers twist into the blanket, an expression of nervous energy. ‘You’re allowed to be whoever you want to be, and I shouldn’t have said any different.’

‘No, you shouldn’t have,’ Blaine replies with a sniff.

‘I know. I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s been torture sitting at home without you. I kept worrying, wondering what you were doing, if you hated me.' 

‘Mm.’

‘I brought you coffee. It’s downstairs. I thought it was the best way to make it up to you, I guess. A hot medium drip for my coffee buddy.’ He smiles, sad and soft, and Blaine finally catches his eye.

‘Thank you.’

‘For what? All I did is bring you coffee and made my apologies which were way more than due.’

Blaine shakes his head and grabs Kurt’s hand, tugging him down onto the bed so they’re laying face to face, impossibly close. ‘Thank you for caring,’ he whispers.

 

**VII.**

They drink coffee in Blaine’s living room, Blaine still in his pajamas, Kurt crossing his legs and letting Blaine rest his head in his lap. They watch a movie, something sappy and ridiculous and meant for people with no sense of anything but drama, but they lean into each other, gaining comfort from the simple touch, and their empty coffee cups fall to the carpet.


	4. Magic

**Magic**

_'You’re got magic inside your fingertips  
_ _It’s leaking out all over my skin  
_ _Every time that I get close to you.’_

 

**I.**

The fight is simple enough, and neither of them really mean it, but suddenly they’re both yelling, and Kurt’s tugging his ring off his finger and throwing it down upon the couch with a scowl before running out the door. The tears stream down his face as he runs, as far as he can go before his energy fails him, and back at the apartment, Blaine’s tears fall just as hard.

 

**II.**

The apartment seems cold and empty with Kurt gone; the steak sizzling on the stove is burning, and the box of chocolates Blaine bought yesterday for their anniversary tomorrow sit like an obvious weight on his mind and the top shelf of the bookcase.

He stands up on tiptoe, removes it from the shelf, and places it on the kitchen bench. He scrawls a quick note and leaves it on top of the box in the hope that if Kurt comes back, he can explain himself.

Then he grabs Kurt’s ring from where it’s fallen on the couch and places it atop the note.

A quick splash of water onto his face from the sink and then he’s out the door, not bothering to pull on a coat. He needs to get out, out of the apartment and away from the empty silence that has filled it.

 

**III.**

It’s their anniversary. That’s as much as he knows when he looks at the screen of his cell and the time read 12:03. It’s been their anniversary for three minutes and they’re _fighting._

He turns into the park, settles himself down on a chair and pulls his knees up to his chest to wait. 

He knows it’s not really safe. New York at midnight is a rough place, and he’s out in the middle of the public arena. He should be keeping himself indoors, at a 24 hour cafe or something, but he just wants to feel the first drizzle of rain on his face and the cool breeze and it chills the tears.

A stray dog wanders past, shaking its mangy hair and spreading stinking water across Kurt’s knees but he ignores it, and it continues walking, hardly paying him any attention. He’s a nobody here. 

 

**IV.**

Blaine steps onto the street, feet becoming quickly cold and wet in his thin canvas shoes. But he doesn’t notice and he doesn’t stop walking, and he wonders, for a moment, if he’ll ever be able to make himself stop. If he’ll be able to turn around just those few blocks down the road and make the decision to come home.

He wonders, for just that moment, if he wants to. Because if Kurt’s not at home, there’s really nothing for him there.

At the end of the block he stops, pauses. There’s an all night cafe, and it seems welcoming, and he wonders if he can lose himself here. It would be easier than going back. It would be easier than facing Kurt, or worse, the empty apartment.

And so he enters, and orders a cappuccino. He doesn’t think he can stand his normal medium drip tonight. The table is clean, and he sits down, resting his head upon his chin as he waits for his order to be called. 

There is no one else, save for the lonely barista, who gives him a weak, tired smile.

 

**V.**

Kurt heads back to the apartment with a heavy heart. His clothes are drenched through and he peels his jacket off in the entryway, leaving it to dry on the hook by the door. He no longer cares about getting away, or about their fight. Now all he wants is to curl up in the warmth of his husband and sleep, but the apartment is empty. 

On the bench is a box of chocolates, neatly wrapped and with his name written above in Blaine’s neat cursive. He tears the note off and scans it. A second, much slower, read through, and he thinks he has all the words. All the important ones anyway.

He folds the note in half and pushes it under the pile of magazines he keeps beside the microwave. He leaves the box of chocolates on the bench.

 

**VI.**

Blaine walks home in silence. The coffee has warmed his insides, but his outsides still feel cold and alone. The outside door is locked and he slides his key in, turning it and shoving with his hip in the practiced motion required for the rusty lock. It gives and he climbs the stairs, his feet squelching on each step.

The door is ajar when he reaches it and he pauses, listening at the crack. Kurt is pacing, his hand pressed against his mouth as he murmurs softly to himself. The tear tracks on his face are visible from where Blaine stands, and he wonders if his heart could break any more tonight.

And then he turns. He’s noticed the door and he’s stepping quickly towards it, pulling it open and dragging Blaine into the room. For a moment, he wonders if the fight’s about to start all over again and whether he should just raise his hands in defeat before they begin. But then Kurt’s hands are tangling in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and his head is on his shoulder as he sobs.

‘Hey,’ he says softly, and it seems the best thing.

There’s no apologies for tonight. His tears are enough, and the letter hidden under the pile of magazines is enough for Kurt.

 

**VII.**

The sofa collapses beneath their weight as Blaine pulls Kurt close and onto his lap. His hands circle his waist, thumb brushing against his hip in soothing, well-practiced motions. He presses soft kisses into the back of his neck, his spine beneath his shirt. He can’t stop and he’s not one hundred percent sure why. But for some reason, he can’t let go, he just keeps needing to touch and to feel.

‘Thank you,’ Kurt whispers, gentle and soft. 

‘Thanks for coming back,’ he responds with a smile. ‘For a second there, I didn’t think you would.’ His hand tangles with Kurt’s, fingers lingering for a moment on the ring that has now returned to it’s proud placement. 

‘Mm.’ Kurt leans into his body, humming at the savoured touch. ‘Please don’t ever let go of me. Please. Never.’

And Blaine nods against his shoulder. It’s one of the few promises he feels happy about making.


	5. Just As Blue

**Just As Blue**

_‘The snow falling makes me think of you  
_ _Winter’s over but it’ll be back soon  
_ _I tried my best to change my heart for you  
_ _But this tune is still just as blue.’_

 

**I.**

In New York, the snow falls heavily and without rest. Kurt avoids going outside except to buy the occasional groceries and attend the final sessions of classes before the winter break. Instead, he stays home, completing his assignments and sitting on the phone for long, sleepy hours, planning his trip back home for Christmas.

 

 **II.**  

In Ohio, Blaine leans against his headboard, watching as the snow falls gently outside his window. Inside, he’s toasty and warm, with the reverse cycle on and his blanket pulled tight around his waist. 

He presses his phone hard into his ear and listens to Kurt’s voice until he falls asleep.

He can’t wait till the next week when Kurt will be coming home, and he will see him for the first time in what seems like forever.

 

**III.**

But the week dawns and the snow is heavier than ever. The airports are closed and when Kurt calls up in the hope that his flight may still just leave, he is sorely disappointed.

And he doesn’t know how to break it to Blaine.

 

**IV.**

There’s no way in and out of New York now, and it’s Christmas. The one time of year that Kurt feels like he should be at home, spending time with his dad and Carole, and Finn and most of all, Blaine.

But all he has is a distorted telephone line and crying himself to sleep on Christmas Eve. Rachel gives him a sympathetic smile, but her dads are already in New York and her new boyfriend too, and she has nothing to go back for. She doesn’t really understand.

 

 **V.**  

‘Hello?’

‘Hey.’ It’s midnight, and he just had to call again. His eyes are red raw and he wonders if he’s ever going to manage to stop crying. But the tears have run out now. Only the dry wracking sobs remain.

‘Are you okay, Kurt?’ Blaine whispers. His voice breaks on his name, and Kurt wonders if maybe, just maybe, Blaine’s sitting at home as upset as he is.

‘No,’ he breathes. ‘Not really. I can’t stop thinking about you.’

‘You’re in the best city in the world for Christmas,’ Blaine returns. ‘Why would you want to be anywhere else.’

He tries to bite back his retort, but it slips from his mouth regardless. ‘Because you’re not here, idiot! You and dad, and Carole. It’s-’ A soft, quiet sob. ‘It’s not home here, Blaine.’

And then he almost misses the hitch in Blaine’s breath as he responds. ‘It’s not home here either.’

 

**VI.**

Christmas Eve passes into Christmas, and Kurt’s still on the phone to Blaine, voices hushed and whispered, though there’s no one in the apartment tonight to hear Kurt anyway. He doesn’t notice when the sun starts peeking between the fall of the curtains. There hasn’t been sun in days.

It isn’t until he hears Blaine’s mother on the other end of the line that he realises he’s slept for only a few hours the whole night, and that’s its now morning. 

He goes to hang up, but Blaine’s voice stops him. ‘No, don’t.’

‘Why not?’ He can almost hear the smile on Blaine’s end of the line. He hasn’t heard it all night.

‘Mom just opened the curtains. Open yours.’

He stands up hesitantly, on shaky feet, but he opens the curtains. Bright sunlight shines through, reflecting off the swathe of snow that coats all around. But the storm has stopped, and New York is bright, so unlike the recent days.

‘Is it bright in New York?’ Blaine whispers, voice almost reverent.

‘Yeah,’ Kurt whispers and he smiles. ‘I wonder if the airport’s open today.’

‘I’ll be waiting for you.’


	6. Sidekick

**Sidekick**

_‘But even the bravest lions  
_ _They need a sidekick.’_

 

**I.**

Kurt leans against the kitchen counter, pressing his elbows into the counter top and smiling at Blaine as he dishes up dinner. It’s nothing complicated, just pasta and garlic bread, but he uses the fancy ciabatta and adds parmesan and oregano to the pasta until it looks less than out of place in a restaurant. 

‘It looks amazing,’ Kurt says with a smile, reaching to take his plate and bring it to the table. 

They eat across from each other, the table small enough that their feet tangle together, bare toes pressing into soft flesh. It’s easy, this simple banter, and when Kurt reaches his left hand across the table, empty now that he’s finished with his garlic bread, Blaine takes it in his own. 

Their evenings are often like this now, simple and easy and just the two of them, experiencing each other. And neither of them would change it for the world.

 

**II.**

It’s scary how quickly they find out they need each other. 

Kurt’s late home from work, the subway was down and he had to catch a cab across the city. Blaine had finished classes early, and now all he can do is stare at the clock, compelling it to tick over, and for Kurt’s sighing laugh to echo around the apartment as he pushes open the door.

But he’s not here. He’s late and he’s not here and Blaine’s not exactly sure why, but his heart is racing and he wonders if he’ll be able to breathe evenly again. 

And in those moments, when things seem like they’re suddenly going bad, he wonders what he would do if Kurt didn’t come back. If just one day, he didn’t come home.

He doesn’t think he’d be able to survive.

 

**III.**

Blaine’s decision to propose comes easily. It’s a simple cause and effect: _marry me, and I will love you forever. And you will love me forever. But it’s not as if I won’t love you forever already. Because I will._  

He buys the ring, lending the money that he doesn’t quite have from his father and choosing the only thing that stands out to him. A simple band engraved along the surface with the words “ _just love”._ On the inside, he asks for the jeweler to engrave their initials, simple and right, and make one matching for him. He places them side by side in his pocket when he leaves, securing them within their boxes beneath a pile of his own hardly used socks.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, or when, but at least now, he’s prepared.

 

**IV.**

It’s a Sunday when he decides it’s time. There’s no real reason for it, no special event or occaison, nothing either of them have done recently to earn extra affection. He just looks across to Kurt, sitting on the couch, and he wants to. He wants to do it now. He wants to be talking about what music is going to be playing, who’s going to be maid of honor, best man, bridesmaids and groomsmen.

So he does it.

He says, ‘I’ll be right back,’ and slips upstairs, drawing the two little boxes from below his socks. One goes into the pocket of his sweatpants, the other into his hoodie, still clasped tight in his hands.

 

And he returns, leaning his head onto Kurt’s shoulder when he sits down.

 

‘What did you have to do?’ Kurt asks him lightly, holding his hand out for Blaine to take, but he doesn’t grab it. His hand is already holding onto the ring like it’s a lifeline.

‘Marry me?’ Blaine asks, and it’s as simple as that. Kurt’s jaw is falling, Blaine’s bringing the ring out of his pocket and presenting it for examination, and Kurt is saying yes, drawing Blaine closer, kissing him like he hasn’t had the chance in a long time.

 

**V.**

It’s not the perfect wedding, but it’s perfect for them. Nothing goes according to plan; Santana and Brittany are late to arrive, Rachel wants to control everything, as normal, and the guys from Dalton seem to have no qualms with embarrassing both Blaine and Kurt in front of their new college friends and workmates. 

Their dads look on with proud faces, and Carole and Blaine’s mom fawn over both of them, making sure their ties are straight, Blaine’s cufflinks well attached. 

They face each other, next to the marriage official, and they exchange silver rings, these thicker than their engagement rings, but similar. “ _No regrets”_ is engraved on the outside, and they’re meant to match, part of a set, sliding together perfectly.

 

 **VI.**  

They have a short honeymoon in LA, basking in the sun at a five star resort, and they spend all morning in their hotel room, and all afternoon in the pool before returning and ordering room service so they could eat and make love and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

 

**VII.**

It’s only a few years later when they decide to look into surrogacy. It seems expensive, and all to much to organise, but Blaine knows someone through work who’s been talking about her willingness to contribute her body to the cause, and both their parents have been secretly talking about how they’re going to fund the endeavor.

And then it’s organised, and it’s done, and neither of them know who’s actually the father of their unborn child and then suddenly it’s _children. Twins._

And when they’re born, little Rose and Henry, she has Kurt’s bright blue, all consuming eyes, and he has Blaine’s unruly dark curls.

It makes them both smile.

 

**VIII.**

On the twins first day of school, Kurt and Blaine take them to the gate, giving them broad, encouraging smiles. They grab each others hands and walk down the concrete path to their classroom, with their oversized backpacks hung high on their backs.

Blaine turns to Kurt, wrapping his arms around his waist and smiling.

 

**IX.**

When Rosie brings home her first boyfriend, Blaine gives him a stern look, and Henry leans against the kitchen counter eyeing him up as if he’s going to steal his sisters virtue.

He doesn’t, he’s gone within the week, but Henry’s protective nature reminds Kurt so much of Blaine that he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself.

 

 **X.**  

Although Rose is the first to get into dating, Henry’s the first one to settle down. He meets a girl, Caitlin, and they connect like a house on fire, both that little bit nerdy, not quite popular, and both with an overwhelming enthusiasm that has them bouncing off each other. 

They don’t seem like they should work, they’re too alike, but somehow they do, and when Henry proposes, Blaine and Kurt pull him into a tight hug, laughing and offering him Grandpa Anderson’s summer house for the wedding.

 

**XI.**

And then both Rose and Henry are married, with little kids and “on the ways” and Kurt and Blaine don’t know how they got here, from those long lazy high school summers to watching their kids grow up.

And sometimes Blaine just leans into Kurt’s shoulder and whispers, ‘Thank you for marrying me.’


	7. Songbird

**Songbird**  

_‘To you, I’ll give the world  
_ _To you, I’ll never be cold  
_ _‘Cause I feel like when I’m with you  
_ _It’s alright, I know it’s right.’_

 

**I.**

The little girl pulls the music box down from the shelf, arms high above her head to reach. She shakes on her raised toes, but the box is now down, and she holds it tight within her arms to protect it.

She places it on the desk, closing her bedroom door to keep out the sound, then winds the key and opens the box, letting the music play.

The old music box is worn and well-used, the sounds crackly and tinny. But the girl adores it, adores the dancing ballerina and the soft swells of the music notes as she listens.

When it finishes, she closes the lid and lifts the box back onto the shelf. Then she presses her hands to her eyes and climbs back into bed, warmer now for the music, but still not warm enough.

 

**II.**

It’s the first day of school and the little girl holds her hands out for her Daddy to push her gloves over her fingers. They’re too big, a purchase to last the years as she grows, and she has to wriggle her fingers to get them comfortable. 

It’s too warm inside the apartment now, stifling with all the layers of winter clothing. Even outside, it’s only autumn, and not yet into the chilly weather of winter, but the little girl is wearing every precaution. For a brief moment she wonders if the other kids will be wearing so many layers, but her Daddy is lifting her up onto his hip, her other father, Papa, giving her a broad smile and pulling her small backpack filled with lunch and her doll over his shoulder. 

‘Are you excited, honey?’ Papa asks, smiling at her and she nods, returning it with the hint of reservation that has been haunting her since she first got up this morning, first realised _this is it. This is the first day of school._

‘You’ll be fine, won’t you, baby girl?’ Daddy says, looking at her, but more to reassure Papa than anything else, but again she nods her agreement. Maybe she will be fine. Maybe the kids won’t pick on her like they picked on her all through kindergarten. Maybe tonight she won’t need to ask for a bed time story. Maybe tonight, she won’t have to bring down the music box once Papa and Daddy have left the room and just listen.

Even to her little five year old mind, it seems sadly unlikely.

 

**III.**

School is big and scary, but she doesn’t talk much. The teacher asks her her name and she gives it, in the strong voice which she reserves for dealing with older people. When the girl who sits down next to her starts to talk, she replies. 

But she doesn’t offer up information. She knows better than that. She knows that if she starts talking about home, and family, someone will ask about her mommy and she’ll have to say _I don’t have one._  

And that’s when it will start.

 

**IV.**

It’s a simple slip of the tongue when it happens. She didn’t even mean to, but somehow she’d talked about Daddy, to Madeleine beside her, and Papa to Henry on the other side. She’d been taking extra care never to put them both in the same story, but somehow she’d muddled up who she was going to talk about and who she wasn’t.

‘I like how you call your Daddy both Daddy and Papa,’ Madeleine said, giving a wide smile. It was so innocent. 

She did not feel innocent at all. Her gut was churning and she couldn’t stop yelling at herself, with the tiny voice inside her head. _Why did you mention them at all? Why did you want to fit in?_ And she couldn’t lie. Daddy and Papa had told her never to lie. But they had also told her never to be afraid of who she was, and sometimes she couldn’t help that.

‘I don’t,’ she whispered, so softly that maybe no one had heard her. It wasn’t a lie if no one heard the truth.

‘Why not?’ Madeleine asked, and that was it. She was gone. They would know now. There was no way around it. She had heard about being able to change schools when things got bad. Papa had done it, and so had Daddy. Maybe she could do that to. She’d only just started really, but maybe they’d let her. They would understand.

The little girl bit her lip, a look wise beyond her years. ‘I have two dads. Papa and Daddy.’

The other girl’s eyes lit up in wonder. ‘Wow!’ She grinned a wide grin, and held her colouring pencil against her lips in awe. ‘I wish I had two dads! My mum just yells at me all the time, and Dad lives far away. It’s no fun at all.’

The little girl watched her, tried to tell if she was lying. It was great having to dads at home, but when she was at school, or they took her shopping, it was the worst thing in the world.

‘It’s not that great,’ she said. ‘People look at you funny.’

Madeleine smiled. ‘I wouldn’t look at you funny.’

She almost laughed then. She grabbed her crayon and finished off her drawing of her weekend, adding Papa in beside Daddy. She raised her hand for the teacher to check it over.

‘What a lovely picture,’ Mrs Harcombe smiled. ‘What are we calling it?’

‘“Daddy and Papa and me watch movies on the couch.”’

 

**V.**

That night she didn’t pull down the music box, and when Papa and Daddy kissed her goodnight, she hugged them extra tight. She didn’t mention Madeleine or her day at all, but she felt lighter. Even if everyone else laughed at her, at least she had one friend who didn’t care.

‘How was school?’ Papa asked once Daddy had left to turn off all the lights in the apartment.

‘It was good,’ she said. Nothing more nothing less. Papa and Daddy weren’t allowed to worry about her.

‘Well, if anyone’s giving you a hard time, or you just need someone to talk to, we’re here all right baby?’

‘I know.’ 

‘We’ll protect you from anything.’

‘I know.’

Papa smiled. ‘I know you know.’


End file.
